


human sexuality

by androgynousmikewheeler



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Compulsory Heterosexuality, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nonbinary Abed Nadir, Sexuality Crisis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:35:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26138230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/androgynousmikewheeler/pseuds/androgynousmikewheeler
Summary: When Abed voices their suspicions of where Troy’s romantic interests may lie, it hits a little closer to home than Troy expected.
Relationships: Annie Edison & Abed Nadir, Troy Barnes & Britta Perry, Troy Barnes/Abed Nadir
Comments: 8
Kudos: 55





	human sexuality

“You’re attracted to me,” Abed says in their measured monotone, and Troy almost spills his popcorn all over his pajama pants. Abed doesn’t look away from the trashy action movie, head tilted and brows focused, only the tension in their jaw and the panic in Troy’s chest hinting that he’d said anything at all.

Troy laughs much too loud, heart racing, all awkward bravado and tangled tongue. “What? No, I— why would you think that? I don’t— I’m not—“

Abed looks at him for a second, face even less readable than usual. “Oh. Cool.” They turn back to the television. “Cool, cool, cool.” Their face loses its perfect composure for just a second and falls. And then they laugh, their sudden jarring, “Ha!”

Troy startles, breath already in short supply. “What?”

“That phone just moved between shots. Continuity error.”

Troy gives a mirroring chuckle. “Yeah. They really must not know what they’re doing.” They wouldn’t be the only ones.

He spends the hour until the credits roll with every muscle tensed to run, or protect himself, or kiss Abed, or some other eventuality he hasn’t predicted in his brain’s confused panic. He takes in precisely none of the movie, not sure he could name it if Annie asked. His eyes return, no matter how he tries to stop them, to Abed, munching on their popcorn and laughing at moviemaking errors as if they haven’t a care in the world.

He knows Abed hates when he doesn’t watch the credits with them, but he doesn’t think he can manage to sit still a moment longer.

“I’m gonna go for a run,” he mutters and jets into the blanket fort to grab his sweats.

“You’re missing the credits,” Abed calls after him, just their voice somehow giving Troy chills, “and it’s nearly midnight.”

“It’s cool,” Troy says, grabbing a t-shirt from the floor and pulling it over his head, the fabric tight. He gives a quick wave to Abed and Annie, whose head peeks out of her room. “I’ll be back soon.”

As he closes the door behind him, he hears Abed say, “You’re wearing my shirt.” He takes off down the stairs at a jog, his mind wrinkling with thoughts of Abed’s shirt stretched across his chest and Abed’s voice saying unbelievable things and Abed’s lips moving against his and Abed and Abed and Abed. He pushes out into the glow of red traffic lights, cool air harsh against his feverish skin, trying to shake the comment out of his head.

Abed was wrong. Or joking. Or making some reference Troy doesn’t understand. It isn’t true. Troy isn’t... like that. His feelings for Abed aren’t attraction.

Right?

Sure, he can appreciate that Abed is beautiful, but you’d have to be blind not to notice that. And maybe he considers from time to time what touching them would be like, stripping them down and worshipping every inch of their body, but that’s just a side effect of filming a few sex scenes together. He doesn’t actually want to do any of it. Probably. Unless Abed wants to, because he wants to do whatever Abed wants to do.

But it’s not because he’s gay or anything.

Right?

That’s not what attraction is. Attraction is what you get with girls. Like with Britta. Britta is objectively pretty. And cool. And he kind of likes hanging out with her. And he doesn’t think he’d mind kissing her. And she’s a girl, and boys are attracted to girls. So Troy is attracted to Britta, right?

_Right?_

He should talk to Britta. Or kiss Britta. Or something. He’s not sure what. But Britta will know what to do. He knows everyone makes fun of her for being dumb, but they do the same to him, and she’s understanding in a way not many people are. And maybe that’s what he needs right now. If he’s attracted to Britta, which he must be, because he knows he isn’t attracted to Abed because he isn’t gay, then he should do something about it. He should go to her, make his big grand gesture. Abed hates grand gestures, though, thinks they’re overdone...

But _this isn’t about Abed!_ This is about Britta, he needs to go to Britta, he needs to tell her how he feels—

Well, actually, right now he just feels scared and confused and, for some reason, guilty, and mostly he just wants to cuddle up next to Abed and watch another movie and not have to think about any of this.

He’s crying. He doesn’t know when he started, but he wipes at his nose and his wrist comes away wet. His brain has felt like it’s crying all night, so he supposes it’s only fair. Between the cool night and jogging halfway across Greendale and what feels like it’s about to be quite the meltdown, his head is pounding to match his heart, his nose is red and stinging, and his breath is in short supply.

He stops to catch his breath, hands on his knees, sure he’s somewhere close to Britta’s, and searches his pockets for his phone. Nothing.

“Fuck,” he mutters. It doesn’t feel like enough. “Fuck!” he calls out into the empty street. Better. Not quite it.

 _“Fuck!“_ he screams at the apartment buildings and the traffic lights and the sleeping people and the night and space and Abed.

“Shut up!” someone calls from an upstairs window.

“Yeah,” a familiar voice assents, “Put a sock in— Troy?”

He scans the side of the building until he finds a head of blonde hair peeking out a window.

He sighs and waves. “Hey, Britta.”

“Tell your boyfriend to go to bed!” the first voice says, and then their window slams, ignoring both protests of the ‘boyfriend’ label.

Britta flips her neighbor off and turns back to Troy. “What are you doing here?” she stage whispers into the street, “It’s after midnight!”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Right now?” Britta yawns. “I was heading towards bed.”

Troy tries to force some bold confession of love from between his lips, but all that comes out is a mangled, voice-cracking, “Please.”

Britta’s concerned, “Troy?” is full of the empathy he can’t seem to find anywhere else, and somehow just knowing that there really is someone who cares about his stupid emotions lets loose the riptide of tears and he crumples to the ground.

His shoulders shudder with echoing sobs, arms wrapped around his knees as he rocks on the cement sidewalk. Why did Abed have to say that? Why did they have to even think it? And why did it have to hit so close to home?

It isn’t true. It isn’t!

Except if it isn’t true, why is it bothering him so much?

And then Britta is clattering down the stairwell and racing across the empty street and her arms are around him, her hair is trailing down his arm, her breath is puffing onto his shoulder. She squeezes him tightly, whispering little nothings against his skin as he cries. 

When his sobs finally subside, she clasps his hand in hers and pulls him to his shaky feet.

“Come on,” she says, wrapping an arm around his waist and leading him back up the stairs to her shitty apartment.

He can see the curiosity in her eyes, the ache to know what’s wrong, to give her two cents, to test her psychiatry skills. But as she sets him on her couch, a slightly disappointed understanding softens her face, and she pats his head.

“Why don’t you get some sleep?” she whispers, “We can talk in the morning.”

Troy almost argues, clinging to that last illusion of romance, but with her arms around him and her lips against his skin, he’d finally realized something he should have a long time ago.

Britta’s not the one he’s in love with.

He lets her head to bed. Not that he’s awake for long anyway.


End file.
